Stories in Bed

After my first draft, I realized the book needed a little more structure, so I added the late-night storytelling sequences, which really helped show how everything was progressing.

Unfortunately, those added sequences ended up making this scene kind of unnecessary. This would have taken place in New York, right after Ethan and Allison got together and just before their big "Lion King" date night.

One thing I had always known was that after Lock was killed in Shadows Over the Glen, Ethan would raise the stakes by having a scene where it looked like Isobel was killed in Where the Heather Blooms. Cutting this scene meant the reader didn’t actually get to see that happen on the page in the main manuscript.

But readers of this deleted scene do!

Later that night, Allison was tossing and turning, trying to get to sleep. Ethan ran his fingertips along her bare back, his touch light and grounding. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just having trouble getting my brain to shut down," she muttered into her pillow. "You know how that is?”

“Yeah, pretty much constantly. I just have to hope to pass out from sheer exhaustion at some point every night.”

“If I do that, I am going to be a total mess tomorrow when we go to St. Jude’s Academy.”

Ethan shifted, reaching over her. Allison instantly stiffened, warning him playfully, “Don’t you dare, Blackwood. I will be up all night!”

But he wasn’t reaching for her. His hand brushed past her shoulder, wrapping instead around the copy of Where the Heather Blooms sitting on her nightstand. He settled back against the pillows, tapping the cover. “Close your eyes,” he whispered.

She looked up at him, a sleepy, teasing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Are you trying to bore me to sleep with stories of fog?”

“It’s worth a try, right?" Ethan countered deadpan. "It’s either that or you drag ass tomorrow morning in front of a classroom full of teenagers.”

Allison rolled onto her side, finally giving in. She cuddled up close against his side, burying her face slightly against his chest. "Fine. But when you reach one of your strange metaphors, I'm going to call you out on it."

"Just listen, Hart," Ethan chided softly.

He cleared his throat. When he began to read, his tone shifted entirely, dropping into that rich, rhythmic cadence he reserved for the prose.

The shadows of the Usurper King’s inner sanctum didn’t just loom; they crawled. Isobel pressed her back against the obsidian pillar, her twin daggers caught in a reverse grip. Across the narrow chasm, Ewan held his breath, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. They were seconds away from the final element needed for the ritual, but the air was thick with the rot of the Black Banshees.

Allison let out a faint, sleepy sigh, her fingers twitching against the edge of the blanket.

A sudden, piercing shriek shattered the silence. Ewan watched in horror as a specter materialized from the mist, its claws tearing through the fabric of Isobel’s cloak. She fell back into the abyss without a sound. In that single, agonizing breath, the world ended for him. He let loose a roar of pure, unadulterated fury, ready to tear the sanctum apart with his bare hands…

“Wait,” Allison muttered, her eyes flying open as she shifted under the covers. “You didn't kill her. Tell me you didn't kill Isobel, Bard. If you thought the Lock fans were going to burn you alive, the Isobel fans will hunt you for sport!.”

Ethan chuckled quietly, reaching over to lightly tap the tip of her nose with his index finger. “Patience, Hart. Let me finish the paragraph before you sharpen your daggers.”

He cleared his throat and resumed reading, a triumphant glint in his blue-gray eyes.

...But as Ewan lunged forward, the fallen cloak dissolved into nothing but ash and illusion. From the high rafters above, the real Isobel dropped silently behind the distracted Banshees, her daggers flashing in the dark. It was a ruse, a tactical trap perfectly executed, leaving the path to the ritual vault wide open.

Allison let out the breath she’d been holding, her head sinking deeper into the plush pillow. “Good,” she murmured, her eyelids fluttering shut for good this time. “If you killed her… I’d...” She was drifting off and never finished that thought.

He kept reading a little more. Minutes later, Ethan looked down over the top of the pages. Allison was out cold. Her face was completely relaxed, a faint, soft breath escaping her lips as she slept securely against him.

A slow smile tugged at Ethan's mouth. He carefully set the book aside, reached over, and gently pulled the blanket up to cover her bare shoulder. He rested his chin against the top of her head, whispering into the dark, “Scottish magic works every time.”